


Happily Ever After Below (And Above) The Waist

by darkangel0410



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Dragon!Patrick, Dragon!Pete, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shapeshifters,” Joe repeated slowly, clearly trying to wrap his mind around it. “What like werewolves?”</p>
<p>“Why is everyone obsessed with werewolves?” Patrick asked,  irritated. “Christ, we're dragons, you jack ass. Not everything's like the movies.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this way back in February or March, I think; it was suppose to be for the Bandom Big Bang, but my laptop died and I had to shelve it for months until I could start it again. I was going to wait until I had all of it finished to post it, but I couldn’t wait, so here it is, the first of five parts. Hope everyone enjoys it.

  
**Part 1**  
 _Pete and I attacked the lost Astoria, with promise and precision and a mess of youthful innocence._  
Saturday, Fall Out Boy

  
  
Patrick had never thought he'd find his mate when he was barely a year into his majority.  
  
Mates were hard to find; his father had been in his thirty's when he found his, so Patrick had figured if he ever did find them, it wouldn't be until he was a lot older.  
  
And he sure as Hell didn't expect to open his front door and find out his mate was not only another dragon, not only a guy, but that he was  _Pete Wentz_  from  _Racetraitor_.  
  
But even before he opened the door and looked at Pete, his senses started humming the way they did whenever he ran into another shapeshifter (it didn't happen often, shifters were fairly rare and dragons the rarest of all; in his whole life Patrick had only run into three other ones besides his family and none of them had been dragons); after he opened the door, a quick inhale had his breathe catching as there was a quiet click in his brain, like the final piece to a puzzle had slipped into place. He smelled like smoke and warmth and heat and some indefinable thing that said  _mine_  and  _home_  to Patrick.  
  
Pete was staring at him with the same shocked look Patrick was sure was on his own face and it took a couple minutes for either of them to say anything.  
  
“Please tell me you're Patrick,” Pete managed to say; his voice was hoarse and he seemed to have a hard time looking away from Patrick's mouth. “And by all that's holy, _please_  tell me you're of age.”  
  
“Fifteen,” Patrick answered as he licked his lips; he couldn't help the smirk that twisted them as he noticed Pete watching him. “And, yeah, that's me.”  
  
After another second or two Patrick stepped back and jerked his head to motion Pete inside.  
  
“So, Joe said you wanted to try out for the band,” Pete said offhandedly and it was obvious that he wasn't really concentrating on the conversation they were having.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick agreed and he couldn't stop himself from looking Pete over or the way his eyes lingered on the strip of skin that was showing between Pete's pants and shirt. “We could go downstairs to where I have my drum kit set up?”  
  
“Yeah, sounds good,” Pete agreed and followed Patrick when he headed down to the basement. “Hey, are you wearing argyle?”  
  
“Shut up,” Patrick muttered, flipping Pete off over his shoulder.  
  
Pete snickered and then gave an appreciative hum when he saw the various instruments littering the basement.  
  
“You can play all these?” Pete asked as he surveyed the room, his eyes quickly taking everything in before fixing back on Patrick. “Nice,” he added when Patrick nodded absently as he situated himself behind the drums.  
  
Patrick tapped out a rhythm for a minute before he looked at Pete again. “You know  _The Way His Collar Falls_?”  
  
“By Saves The Day,” Pete said. “Not enough to play along, but I can follow it.”  
  
Pete watched as Patrick promptly lost himself in the song; he was already half hard in his jeans -had been since Patrick had opened the front door and his scent had hit him (smoke and heat and  _home_  and want and  _mine_  all mixed together)- but the complete concentration the younger shapeshifter was showing had Pete briefly wishing he had worn different pants.  
  
Pete couldn't help but imagine all that concentration and talent focused on him instead of an instrument and immediately lost track of everything for a minute.  
  
He mentally shook himself and heard Patrick murmuring under his breath; it was barely audible but Pete's hearing had always been good, even for a shapeshifter. Pete contemplated the soft singing until Patrick finished.  
  
“You're good,” Pete offered and smiled when Patrick raised an eyebrow at him. “Really good, actually.  
  
“Can you sing?”  
  
Patrick looked surprised at the simple question. “I guess; I mean, can't everyone? Joe said you guys needed a drummer.”  
  
“We do,” Pete confirmed and tilted his head as he looked Patrick over. “We need everything, actually; right now all we have is a bassist and a couple guitarists.  
  
“Joe wants us to be pop punk and to be honest, I can't sing for shit,” Pete went on, a self-deprecating smirk twisting his lips. “I can scream with the best of them, but singing's out of my league.”  
  
“Oh. Well, I've never sung before,” Patrick told him and shrugged. “But I don't think I'd be very good at it.”  
  
“Humor me. Please,” Pete added, his voice dropping a little when Patrick seemed unsure.  
  
Patrick gave Pete a dirty look but Pete counted it as win since he opened his mouth and started singing.  
  
It wasn't Saves The Day or any other punk band like Pete was expecting; it was something he only remembered hazily, from rainy afternoons at his grandparents when he was still little, before his brother and sister were born.  
  
Frank Sinatra, Pete realized. He couldn't remember the exact name -something about dancing- but Patrick's  _voice_ , holy  _fuck_. It felt like someone had known exactly what Pete's best dreams were made of, poured them into Patrick's vocal chords and then used them to rip Pete's heart from his chest so he could offer the bleeding, still beating, bloody mess to Patrick.  
  
As the last note fell from Patrick's mouth and silence fell over the basement, Pete pounced at Patrick, knocking him off the stool he was sitting on.  
  
“I'm so keeping you, Pattycakes,” Pete crooned, nuzzling Patrick's throat. “I was going to anyway, but, your voice, dude. Now, I'm keeping you and you're going to sing and it's going to be awesome.”  
  
“What if I don't  _want_  to sing?” Patrick asked snidely, but he rested his hands on Pete's hips and squeezed teasingly when Pete pulled back to look at him.  
  
“I think I can convince you,” Pete said with a leer that made Patrick roll his eyes even as he felt heat pool in his stomach.  
  
Pete pressed his lips to Patrick's and sighed contentedly before he licked his way inside Patrick's mouth.  
  
Patrick groaned and opened his mouth, pressing his body into the warm weight above him. He tightened the grip he had on Pete's hips, drawing a sharp noise from him.  
  
“Can't believe I found you,” Pete murmured, pulling back enough that he could look into Patrick's eyes; his voice was raspy and seemed to scrape over Patrick's skin, eliciting a shiver from him.  
  
“I thought it would take longer, if it ever even...” Patrick started to say and then shrugged it off; he always had a hard time vocalizing anything he was feeling and he didn't really see that changing any time soon.  
  
Pete just smirked down at him; his eyes were shot with yellow and Patrick knew his own were the same way.  
  
“I know,” Pete said and shifted his hips so their erections rubbed against each other; Patrick gasped and bit Pete's lip when he smiled. “Talk later,” he added when Patrick let his lip go.  
  
Pete scrapped his teeth down Patrick's throat before biting down where Patrick's pulse was. Patrick conceded, if only to himself, that talking of any kind could wait until later.  
  
Much later.  
  
*  
  
“So, this band,” Patrick drawled later on; his jeans were barely pushed down past his hips, his shirt was rucked up under his arms and Pete was in in a similar state, lying across Patrick's chest. “I don't know if I should join.”  
  
Pete moved until he was on his hands and knees above Patrick and looked him over.  
  
“Fuck me, you look wrecked,” Pete told him, his voice smug.  
  
“That could be arranged,” Patrick said and rolled them over so he was pinning Pete to the floor.  
  
“Dude, you think you can get this whenever you want?” Pete grinned up at him and rolled his hips so Patrick could feel him getting hard again.  
  
“That was just a free sample -you don't get any more until you agree to join.”  
  
“Blackmail, huh?” Patrick asked, his voice bland. He sat back enough to start pulling at Pete's shirt until Pete got the message and helped him pull it off and toss it over his shoulder.  
  
“I guess I could live with that,” Patrick went on thoughtfully as he ran his hand across Pete's chest, stopping to press against Pete's nipple.  
  
Pete gasped a little and then smirked. “I'm glad you see things my way.”  
  
“Jesus, don't you ever shut up?” Patrick huffed but he didn't seem really put out by it. “Do I need to gag you?”  
  
“Not on the first date, Pattycakes,” Pete informed him, snickering. “That's definitely second date material.”  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes and then dipped his head for a quick kiss.  
  
*  
  
Eventually, they managed to call Joe and schedule practice for next week; Joe called Pete back a few hours later to let him know that TJ would be there.  
  
When Joe came home from school and saw Pete lazily kissing Patrick against the railing on his front porch, he just rolled his eyes.  
  
“Jesus, Pete, you're already assaulting our drummer?” Joe complained as he unlocked the front door and went inside.  
  
“You could've at least let him get used to us first,” he added over his shoulder, clearly expecting them to follow him as he dropped his book bag onto the floor and then continued into the kitchen.  
  
“Yeah, about that,” Pete said, his voice sheepish. “Patrick's going to sing instead of drum.”  
  
“Seriously, jackass? You know how hard it is to find a fucken drummer?” Joe groused before he turned to Patrick.  
  
“Please tell me you can at least carry a tune, dude. No offense or anything, but Pete doesn't always think clearly when his dick's involved.”  
  
“Uh, I guess I'm OK,” Patrick told him, looking at Pete uncertainly.  
  
“Trust me, Trohman, he's our golden ticket,” Pete said and gave Patrick a warm look. “Go on, Patrick, sing for him.”  
  
Patrick took a deep breath and closed his eyes; he went through all the songs he knew before he settled on  _Through Being Cool_ by Saves the Day.  
  
He made through the first verse and the chorus before he trailed off and opened his eyes, half expecting Joe to be wincing or giving Pete a dirty look; instead he was looking at Patrick, disbelief written on his face.  
  
“OK? You call that OK?” Joe demanded and then went on without waiting for an answer, “He's definitely singing; we'll just have to find another drummer.”  
  
Pete made an agreeable noise as he went through the cabinets and pulled out a bag of pretzels, as much at home as he would be in his own house. “We could always try Andy again.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Joe scoffed as he grabbed some cans of soda from the fridge. “You do remember how many bands he's in, right? We've got a better chance of winning the lottery.”  
  
“Point, but he might know someone,” Pete said and snagged Patrick's wrist on his way past.  
  
They followed Joe downstairs to the basement where they flopped on a couch. Patrick looked around and noticed a couple guitars and a bass propped up in a corner next to some amps.  
  
“You know anyone, Patrick?” Joe asked when he passed him a soda; he snagged a handful of pretzels from Pete and settled into the corner of the couch.  
  
“Not off the top of my head -I could ask around school on Monday,” Patrick offered.  
  
“Might as well,” Joe agreed. “It's not like you could do a worse job than we already are.”  
  
The conversation dropped for a few minutes while they finished off the pretzels and drinks.  
  
Once they were done, Joe went outside to smoke - “Before TJ gets here and starts whining about his delicate lungs or some shit.”- and as soon as he went up the stairs, Pete was straddling Patrick and dropping kisses along his jaw.  
  
“Probably not the best time to start making out,” Patrick smirked even as he urged Pete up onto his knees so he could sneak his hand under his shirt to tug lightly on Pete's nipple ring.  
  
“Probably not,” Pete agreed breathlessly; he inhaled sharply when Patrick did it again. “You're fucken evil, Stump.”  
  
Anything Patrick might have said in retaliation was cut off when Pete attacked his mouth greedily.  
  
Patrick fisted his hand into Pete's hair and pulled him back, so he could bite at the older shifter's jaw. Pete moaned and strained against the hold Patrick had on his hip, trying to get some friction against his erection.  
  
Patrick chuckled, low and smug but before he could do anything, Joe opened the door and came back downstairs followed by another person.  
  
“Come on, Pete -you know the whole 'no sex on my couch' rule counts for guys, too,” Joe snarked as he playfully shoved Pete off of Patrick's lap on his way past them to the pile of instruments.  
  
“Patrick, that's TJ, our second guitarist,” Joe added absently as he started tuning his guitar. “TJ, Patrick, our new singer.”  
  
“Hey,” TJ offered as he looked Patrick over. “I thought Joe told me you were going to be drumming?”  
  
“I was suppose to,” Patrick told him as Pete went over to Joe and started harassing him. “Pete heard me singing, though, and well,” Patrick shrugged, laughing a little. “You know how Pete is.”  
  
*  
  
It wasn't until TJ almost saw Pete after he Shifted that they realized someone was going to find out eventually.  
  
They were in Pete's room; Pete had Shifted while Patrick was putting his clothes on. There was no real reason why, he just did it; Patrick had told him he was getting bitchy and his response had been to Shift so he could knock Patrick over without straining himself.  
  
Patrick was buttoning his jeans and dodging Pete's friendly head-butts when they heard someone running up the stairs.  
  
He realized that it was TJ right before he hit the top of the stairs and started yelling for Pete.  
  
“Wentz, come on, asshole,” TJ called out. “You're going to make us late.”  
  
Patrick dove against the door just as TJ started to open it.  
  
“What the fuck, dude?”  
  
“Hold on a second,” Patrick told him as he looked over his shoulder at Pete who froze for a second before he started Shifting back. “Pete's getting dressed.”  
  
There was no answer from TJ but Patrick could practically hear him rolling his eyes.  
  
Pete exchanged a long look with Patrick once he was dressed and then he pulled open the door.  
  
“Hey, fucker, what took you so long?” Pete asked cheerfully as he pushed past him to go downstairs. “Later, 'Trick,” he called out over his shoulder almost as an afterthought.  
  
TJ looked at Patrick uncertainly for a second before he shrugged and followed Pete back downstairs.  
  
“Isn't your Mom gonna be home soon?” TJ asked as Pete shoved his sneakers on.  
  
“What? Yeah, in an hour,” Pete said absently as he tried to remember where he left his wallet. “So?”  
  
TJ didn't answer, just shrugged again and glanced up at the ceiling.  
  
Pete made a triumphant noise when he found it on the coffee table and turned back around in time to see TJ look upstairs.  
  
“Oh, you mean because Patrick's still here,” Pete realized; he put the wallet in his pocket and headed outside. “Don't worry about it -she loves Patrick. Trust me on this; she'll have no problem if he's still hanging out when she gets home.”  
  
TJ mentally shook his head; his parents liked his girlfriend just fine, too, but his mother would have a fit if he left her at their house while he went out with his friends.  
  
It was weird.  
  
Hell, the whole thing with Patrick was; Pete, despite jokes, never went after jailbait. He may have been free and easy with his affections towards –well,  _everyone_ , but he usually stayed far away from anyone who would make him a felon.  
  
But here he was, joined at the hip with Stump; who, yeah, was a cool dude and TJ liked jamming with him, but there was no denying the fact that he was only sixteen. Sixteen, still in high school and looked even younger than his actual years.  
  
It was fucken weird.  
  
TJ shrugged; hell, if Pete wanted his mom to bitch him out, let him have fun.  
  
And if Pete wanted to keep fucking someone who was eventually going to land him in the county jail –well, it wasn’t TJ’s ass on the line, and, really, that’s all TJ cared about.  
  
*  
  
They told Joe first.  
  
“Shapeshifters,” Joe repeated slowly, clearly trying to wrap his mind around it. “What, like werewolves?”  
  
“Why is everyone obsessed with werewolves?” Patrick asked, irritated. “Christ, we're dragons, you jack ass. Not everything's like the movies.”  
  
Pete just smirked; seeing Patrick get pissy always amused him. He had no idea what that said about him as a best friend or a mate, but it happened every time Patrick got snarky. It also got him horny, but that really didn't take much.  
  
“Huh,” Joe said and contemplated the spiff in his hand for a minute. “That's cool.”  
  
And that was that.  
  
*  
  
“It’s just weird,” TJ explained to Joe when he told him he was quitting; Pete and Patrick had already headed over to Patrick’s house –“Sleepover time, Pattycakes! Let’s go home and get lotion all over our hands so we have to take each other’s underwear off with our teeth.”- and TJ could admit to a certain level of cowardice on his part.  
  
“Pete’s always been weird,” Joe pointed out blandly; he was outside enjoying his post-rehearsal smoke and he was eying the smoke floating around him.  
  
“Yeah, but this is really  _weird_ ,” TJ said, frustrated that Joe didn’t understand what he meant. “Come on, you can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed.  
  
“Patrick’s only sixteen and Pete’s twenty one -”  
  
“I’m sixteen,” Joe interrupted, grinning at TJ; his usual cheerfulness was starting to reassert itself, despite the fact that they were going to have to find  _another_ guitarist.  
  
“Last I checked, you weren’t fucking Pete, Joe,” TJ told him. “Look, even ignoring the age thing, it’s still plenty fucked up.  
  
“Pete’s always at Patrick’s, he spends the night constantly and Patrick’s parents don’t even care. Who’s parents do that? And they let him do whatever the fuck he wants; he’s a good kid, but, come on, Joe, it’s messed up.  
  
“Not to mention how Patrick’s over at Pete’s almost as often as his own house and Pete’s parents just let it go –they don’t even care if he’s there by himself. The whole thing is just…weird.  
  
“It’s weird.”  
  
“Patrick’s parents aren’t even together,” Joe reminded him.  
  
He went on before TJ could do more than glare at him.  “What do you want me to tell you, TJ? Is it normal? No, but, fuck, none of us are exactly white picket fence material.”  
  
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” TJ took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“Look, I just –it’s grating on me, OK? And I don’t want to end up with this big blowout where there’s yelling and screaming and shit.”  
  
Joe thought of dragons and secrets while his friend walked away.  
  
*  
  
They took the news fairly well when Joe told them the next night.  
  
“That sucks,” Pete frowned. “I didn’t realize TJ wanted out. Did he say what happened?”  
  
Joe hesitated for a second before he mentally shrugged; he didn’t like lying as a rule and he saw no reason to start being dishonest now. “He was weirded out by how intense you and Patrick act. You’re always together, you know? And Patrick’s mom pretty much lets him do whatever –TJ said it was starting to freak him out.”  
  
“We explained that to you,” Patrick said, his voice annoyed; Pete hid a smile and rubbed a soothing hand down his back but kept his eyes on Joe.  
  
“Yeah, to me,” Joe reminded him. “But he had no clue what the fuck is going on. I mean, I get why you wouldn’t tell him –TJ can be unpredictable and he’s kind of flaky. He doesn’t hate anyone, he just started getting uncomfortable and didn’t want to deal with it.  
  
“Whatever, his loss, right? He’ll be pissing himself when we’re, like, getting head at the Playboy Mansion and he’s still here.”  
  
Pete snickered and high fived him while Patrick rolled his eyes; Joe could see his shoulders relax and he mentally patted himself on the back. Patrick’s bitch fits weren’t exactly a weekly occurrence but Joe had seen enough of them to want to avoid them whenever possible.  
  
“We’re going to need another guitarist,” Pete pointed out after a minute.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Joe agreed. “I was thinking of that one guy Chris knows, with all the flannel? He filled in for -”  
  
“I’ll do it,” Patrick interrupted; he raised an eyebrow at the incredulous look on Joe’s face. “I mean, do we really want to waste time trying to find someone who fits in with us and can play decently? We’re better off practicing instead.”  
  
“True, but, dude, splitting your focus? Won’t that be a pain in the ass?” Joe asked, running a hand through his hair.  
  
“Patrick can do everything,” Pete answered absently but with the same kind of conviction that some people used when they talked about God and religion. Patrick rolled his eyes again, but he was blushing; it made Pete grin at him.  
  
Joe groaned and pretended to throw up –there was only so much a guy could take, for fuck’s sake.  
  
It made Pete roar with laughter right before he started throwing the empty soda cans at him. Joe ducked a few before he wrestled Pete to the ground. It was only a matter of seconds before Patrick was climbing on his back to try and get him off of Pete. All three of them were out of breath from laughing.  
  
God  _damn_ , Joe loved his band.  
  
*  
  
Andy was the last to find out simply because he was the last one to join the band. He played gigs here and there, but he didn't end up joining full time for almost a year. And since their second drummer stopped coming to practice immediately after he caught Pete and Patrick making out on the couch in Pete's basement, it stood to reason that finding out they weren't human would make almost anyone freak the fuck out.  
  
They didn't hide the fact that they were together -they never had, not really- but now Pete made sure that anyone who ended up drumming for them knew that the rumors about Pete Wentz liking guys weren't just rumors. And they never Shifted away from home; the close call with TJ had made them even more cautious than their kind usually were.  
  
Once Andy agreed to join full time, they started planning exactly how to tell him without scaring him off.  
  
*  
  
It was the day before they were suppose to leave when Pete and Patrick met Joe over at Andy's.  
  
“Let me get this straight, you two aren't human,” Andy said, pointing a finger at them. “You're shapeshifters -”  
  
“It's not like werewolves,” Joe interrupted helpfully. “Like, at all.”  
  
“- and Joe knew,” he went on, ignoring Joe's words. “And you decided to tell me now, the day before we're leaving to go touring all over the Midwest. Why would you wait until now to spring this on me?”  
  
“It's -” Pete started to say, before he exhaled noisily and shifted his feet uncomfortably.  
  
“It's a big deal, Andy,” Patrick said quietly, he squeezed Pete's shoulder in reassurance; Pete relaxed a little and leaned against Patrick's side, making Patrick move his arm and settle it around his shoulders.  
  
“We're not human even if we look like it most of the time,” Patrick told him, his eyes steady on Andy's. “Not a lot of people even know about us and not all of the ones who  _do_ are as ...accepting of it as Joe is.  
  
“It's not something any of us go around babbling to people at random; in fact, Joe's the first person I've ever told in my life and I'm sixteen.”  
  
“I've never told anyone else, either,” Pete put in before he snuggled closer into Patrick's side, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling his neck. Patrick squirmed a little but didn't shrug Pete off or tell him to stop.  
  
“We decided,” Patrick motioned to Pete with his head to include him before going on. “And then Joe agreed that we would wait on telling anyone else until we were sure that they would stick around. Once you came aboard permanently, it was just a matter of figuring out when to tell you.  
  
“We wanted to give you time to freak out if you needed to but not enough time to ditch us without a drummer,” Patrick admitted a little sheepishly.  
  
“So, what -you thought my sense of responsibility would keep me from leaving even if I wasn't cool with this?” Andy asked with a raised eyebrow, unsure if he should be pissed or amused.  
  
“Dude, you won't even eat bacon because you feel bad for the way the pigs get treated,” Joe pointed out. “There's no way you'd leave us without a drummer.”  
  
“Point,” Andy admitted with a smile. “So, what kind of animals are you?”  
  
“Dragons,” Pete answered with a smug smirk. He twisted his face away from Patrick's neck so he could look at Andy. “We're both fire dragons.”  
  
“Dragons,” Andy repeated skeptically, looking in between the two of them. “Like a Kimono Dragon?”  
  
“No,” Patrick told him as Pete pulled away and started stripping off his clothes. “Like an actual Chinese dragon; we're not as big as they used to be, though.”  
  
“No offense, guys, but you're not exactly big enough to - Jesus, Pete, I've already seen your ass way more than anyone who's not fucking you should ever have to,” Andy complained as he tried to shield his eyes.  
  
“Shut up, Hurley,” Pete snickered as he stepped out of his jeans and moved a few feet away from everyone. “If I Shift with my clothes on, they'll disappear and I'm not trying to make it all the way back to Patrick's house naked.”  
  
Andy moved his hand and watched as Pete got a serious expression on his face. Andy stared as the air around Pete got...hazy was the only word Andy could think of to describe it. It got hazy and made Andy's eyes hurt more the longer he stared at him until he  _had_  to close his eyes and then there was this loud cracking noise, as if Pete had broken every bone in his body at once. Which, Andy supposed, he kind of had.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Andy couldn't help making a surprised noise at the sight in front of him; height wise, Pete was about as tall as he usually was; only an inch or so taller than Patrick. Length wise, from what Andy could see, he was about twelve or thirteen feet long. It was hard to tell, exactly, because most of his lower half was coiled together; out of deference to his mom's walls, Andy guessed and he sent a silent thank you to Pete because he had no idea how he would have explained any dragon related damage to her when she got home from work.  
  
Pete was lean, built more for speed than power; his scales were prominently red, but Andy could see where they bled into yellow along his stomach and neck. His eyes were yellow, with a vertical pupil that reminded Andy more of a cat than any kind of reptile.  
  
Andy liked to think he was a pretty tolerant person, but he couldn't help the freak-out he could feel building up.  
  
Pete blinked at Andy, his tongue flicking out a little bit. He took a couple steps forward and rested his head on Patrick's shoulder -well, what he could fit of it on there. Patrick smiled slightly and petted the top of Pete's head which made him slit his eyes and nuzzle Patrick's neck.  
  
The gesture helped Andy calm down; it was something he saw Pete do at least two or three times a day.  
  
“You don't seem excited, Joe,” Andy commented, his voice fairly even.  
  
“I've seen the show before,” Joe shrugged, but there was a look in his eyes that told Andy no matter how many times he may or may not have seen this, it was still new to him.  
  
“Ah, how many times would you have to,” Andy paused for a second to try to find the right words. “Uh, change while we're touring?”  
  
Pete made an annoyed, grumbling noise and shook his head, knocking Patrick's hat off of his head.  
  
Patrick gave Pete a friendly shove so he would move over an inch or two and bent over to pick the hat up before he answered Andy.  
  
“We call it Shifting -it's a cultural thing,” Patrick explained with a shrug at Andy's confused look. “Granted, it means almost the same thing, but it's considered rude or bad manners or whatever to say 'change' or 'turn' instead of 'Shift'. It's not likely to do more than annoy most shifters, but it's better not to take a chance, you know?  
  
“And, to answer your question, we usually get pissy if we don't Shift once a week or so; after a while, we get more and more aggressive and start snapping -sometimes literally- at people, start brawls, that kind of thing.  
  
“We're not tied to the moon like werewolves are; they don't have any control over themselves once they change and they don't remember their human half until the sun comes up.”  
  
“Wait -werewolves are real?” Andy asked in disbelief; he really hoped there weren’t any other surprises tonight. “You've got to be kidding me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick said, smiling over Andy's skepticism. “Dude, one of your best friends just turned into a dragon in front of you and you're balking at the idea of werewolves?”  
  
“When you put it like that,” Andy conceded with a sigh.  
  
“We probably won't see too many of them; they shy away from humans and stick to places with a lot of trees and not as many people. Canada, mostly, from what I've been told; the weather's colder and it's easier for them to hide up there.”  
  
Pete head-butted Patrick's back, sending him forward a few steps, when Patrick glared at him over his shoulder Pete snapped his jaws at him playfully. Patrick rolled his eyes but turned around so he could rub Pete's throat for a minute before he murmured something too low for Andy to catch and stepped away from him.  
  
Pete shook his head a little and seemed to curl in on himself before the air got hazy again; Andy closed his eyes as soon as he realized what Pete was doing, having his eyes hurt like that once was enough for him.  
  
There was another series of bone cracking noises and then Pete's voice, “So, what did you think, Hurley? Awesome, right?”  
  
Andy opened his eyes just as Pete was getting back into his jeans. “It was fairly impressive,” Andy allowed, smiling at Pete's indignant huff.  
  
“Whatever, douche,” Pete scoffed before he launched himself onto Joe's back, sending him stumbling forward a few steps.  
  
“Fuck, Wentz, shouldn't I be riding you or some shit?” Joe complained as he caught his balance and then straightened up.  
  
“Joe, you racist fuck,” Pete crowed, hooking his arm around Joe's neck and giving it a friendly squeeze. “Stop being an ass and carry me out to the car or I'll tell your mother she raised a speciesest and she'll cry forever over what a disappointment you turned out to be.”  
  
Joe rolled his eyes but obediently headed for the door after sending Andy a quick, “See you tomorrow,” over his shoulder.  
  
Patrick laughed and followed them out at a slower pace, Andy walking with him.  
  
“You know, this explains why Pete spends so much time at your house,” Andy mused out loud and laughed at the amused look Patrick gave him.  
  
“What? You know I could give a fuck -most man made laws are useless, anyway, but that one's right up there in stupidity. But I did wonder why your mom didn't call the cops when she found out her sixteen year old was screwing around with a twenty-one year old guy.”  
  
“Actually, I was fifteen when I met Pete,” Patrick smirked as Andy rolled his eyes. “But, yeah, it does.  
  
“Shapeshifters are considered adults when we turn fifteen,” Patrick explained as they went out the back door and saw Pete and Joe roughhousing in the yard. “I could have dropped out of school and decided to start whoring myself out and neither one of my parents would have been able to tell me 'no'.  
  
“Added to that, Pete and I, we're mates; and that's rare enough that even if I had been underage, they still would have let him stay over, even if they had put their feet down on the sexual part of it. And, honestly, they probably wouldn't have tried too hard to make sure we weren't having sex.  
  
“We mature faster than humans, mentally  _and_  physically, Andy,” Patrick told him softly when he saw the disbelief on his friend's face. “I was thirteen the first time I had sex and I'm pretty sure Pete was, too; believe it or not, that's considered normal for us.”  
  
Andy put that away to think about later and focused on the first part of the conversation. “Mates -is that like dating?”  
  
“Kind of,” Patrick said, a small, secret smile curling his lips briefly. “It's more serious, though. Like marriage, I suppose. Although, even if you choose to stay away from your mate, you're still tied to each other for the rest of your lives.”  
  
“Tied to each other,” Andy repeated, feeling lost in this conversation; it wasn't something he enjoyed or was used to, either. “What does that mean, exactly?”  
  
“Ah, like, a mental awareness of Pete,” Patrick answered, trying to find words to explain something he knew instinctively. “Like, if I concentrate, I can always find him in a crowd of people or across town; when I'm at school, I can tell if he's still at home, sleeping, or if he's at work.  
  
“I usually have at least a basic idea of what kind of mood he's in -happy, sad, depressed, pissed, whatever- unless one of us is shielding. It works both ways; our moods can influence each other, too, if we're not careful.”  
  
Andy nodded slowly, a couple things making sense suddenly; the way Patrick always seemed to know when Pete was going to show up at practice, down to the last minute almost; how he knew when to leave Pete alone to sulk or when he needed to be coaxed into hanging out and laughing. Or the way Pete blithely told everyone around them that Patrick needed space seconds before he lost his temper.  
  
“Trickster,” Pete called out from where he was laid out on the grass next to Joe. “You almost ready to go? I'm dying for a fucken cheeseburger over here.”  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes and turned back to Andy. “Before we take off, there's something else I wanted to tell you.  
  
“It's nothing bad,” Patrick assured him, grinning at the look of apprehension on his face. “But while we're on tour, you might notice people come up to me or Pete; not fans or anything like that, but other shifters. Or we might go up to strangers, things like that.  
  
“It's instinct -one that's pretty hard to ignore. It's a throwback to when we used to actually fight each other over territory and shit; once we sense another shifter, we're almost compelled to find each other -size one another up, acknowledge that there's another predator in the area, prove we're not afraid of each other.  
  
“It's complete bullshit, but we can’t really control it. I just wanted to give you a heads up in case me and Pete disappeared for a few minutes. I mentioned it to Joe, too, but -well, you know Joe,” Patrick shrugged.  
  
“He won't worry about it until it's practically on top of him.”  
  
Andy snorted in agreement. “Yeah, Joe would definitely be the kid that got sliced open first in any horror movie.”  
  
Andy watched them go; Pete wrapped around Patrick like an octopus, him and Joe going back and forth about which John Hughes movie was the best, Patrick adding in his own opinion here and there.  
  
It was just like almost any other night, except for the fact that he knew Patrick and Pete weren't what they seemed.  
  
He thought about it for a minute and then shrugged; they were his friends first and as far as Andy was concerned, that's the only thing that really mattered.  
  
*  
  
The next day, Andy pulled the van up in front of Patrick's house and helped them load up their gear and duffel bags. They just finished arranging everything when Pete came back out carrying the biggest plastic jug Andy had ever seen.  
  
“Do I even want to know?” He asked as Pete stood there, looking at Andy out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Come on,” Patrick said and dragged Andy to the front of the van. “He's not going to hide it until he knows you can't see him.”  
  
“Uh, is that a dragon thing?” Andy wondered and winced when he heard something hit the side of the van and Pete curse.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick answered with a rueful smile. “I don't know if you've noticed how much Pete likes change -”  
  
“Oh, you mean, the part where he grabs any loose change he can find and takes it?” Andy interrupted, his voice dry. “Yeah, I noticed; I thought it was from...”  
  
Andy trailed off and exchanged a look with Patrick; even now Pete didn't talk about boot camp and neither one of them wanted to bring up something that Pete was still trying to get over.  
  
“No, it's kind of a throwback; most dragons are, by nature, obsessive,” Patrick explained and waved a hand to indicate his front lawn. “Like, my mom,  _loves_  gardening and flowers; she takes care of this lawn and our backyard like her life depends on it. And trust me, she would know if you picked even one flower from here or the back, no matter how small or inconsequential you thought it was.  
  
“For me, it's music; the right set of chords, the way notes go together, how the right melody can tie it together and Pete's words -” Patrick cut himself off and flushed a little; Andy raised an eyebrow but didn't say or do anything else except smirk.  
  
“Pete's got a couple different things, but the one that you need to know is that he collects change, hoards it even. He'll take whatever he finds and put it in that jug and gloat over it.”  
  
“Wait, gloat over it?” Andy repeated when Patrick didn't go on. “That's it?”  
  
“That's it,” Patrick confirmed with a shrug. “It's not about the spending for Pete, it's about the  _having_. There is nothing that would ever make him spend any of it -we could be starving and we'd have to murder Pete before he'd let us use it to get food.  
  
“And the only thing you really need to know is: don't touch it. Ever. And, for the love of all that is holy, don't take any of it. Pete will know down to the last penny how much money is there and if you think he's pissy now sometimes, you don't even want to know what he'll be like if any of his money goes missing.”  
  
“OK,” Andy said after several seconds. “I can do that. I gotta ask, though; is this just a Pete thing? Or do other dragons do it? Because it sounds kind of out there, you know?”  
  
“Pete said his grandfather did it, too,” Patrick answered with another shrug. “It’s suppose to be a throwback to when dragons had hoards with, like, actual gold pieces and shit.”  
  
Just then Pete finally came around the side, looking smug. “Hey, you guys done talking about me? We need to get going and pick up Trohman.”  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes, ducked inside the van and sat on the bench seat. “We were waiting on your ass, Wentz. Let's go before I get bored and leave you here.”  
  
“Please, Rickster,” Pete scoffed as he shut the door and draped himself over the rest of the seat with his feet in Patrick's lap. “You'd be lost without me.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
  
Andy got in and started the van; as he listened to their bickering, he really hoped there were no more surprises coming up.  
  
*  
  
A lot of the time, Joe forgot that two of his best friends weren't, strictly speaking, human.  
  
Most of the time they acted like they were, so Joe usually forgot it until he walked in on one of them when they were Shifted (he always thought of it in capital letters, it always sounded like that whenever Pete or Patrick talked about it) or that one memorable time Patrick had literally been breathing smoke because he had gotten that pissed off at someone who was brawling with Pete.  
  
But one thing that always reminded him was the way Pete was about his change.  
  
Every tour they'd ever been on since Andy had joined, Pete had brought along a huge jug that he kept all his spare change in. That by itself wasn't so strange, but Joe had seen Pete's eyes light up when he came across some loose coins on the floor of the van and he periodically curled up around it and just  _stared_  at it with this smug grin on his face. He'd do that for hours before he hid it as best he could in a van with three other people in it.  
  
He refused to spend any of it, not even if they were forced to spend the night in the van because they couldn't afford a hotel room. They had once gone without food for two days in between gigs and even the escalating pissiness of everyone couldn't make him part with any of it.  
  
It was just weird, in Joe's opinion.  
  
And God help you if you took any of it -Joe had found that out the hard way.  
  
They were at a gas station; Pete had dragged Patrick off to make out in the bathroom for ten minutes before they got snacks, Andy was inside paying for the gas and Joe needed rolling papers and he was fifty fucken cents short.  
  
Joe had been scouring the floor of the van -Pete had been thorough in his weekly scavenging, though, the bastard-  when he had stumbled onto Pete's stash. It took him all of ten seconds of debate with himself before he had undone the lid and taken fifty cents. As he put the lid back on and looked it over to make sure he hadn't moved it around any, Joe had figured that Pete wouldn't even notice anything was missing. It was only fifty cents, after all.  
  
Boy, was he wrong.  
  
Coming back through the parking lot, Joe could hear Pete yelling something and saw Andy and Patrick standing in front of the van.  
  
“I know he took it,” Pete fumed, stomping around the van, his hands fisted at his sides. “I know that fucker touched my hoard and I'm -”  
  
“Pete, calm down,” Patrick said, his voice even, but his eyes followed Pete's progress and Joe could see he was using some effort to keep himself from getting agitated along with Pete. “I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it.”  
  
Andy crossed his arms and shot Joe a disapproving look when he caught sight of him. Joe hunched his shoulders self-defensively and glared at Andy before he shuffled forward enough that he was in Pete's line of sight.  
  
“Trohman,” Pete snarled and reached out enough that he could haul Joe into the van by the front of his shirt; and, yeah, there was a small tendril of smoke curling out from Pete's nose -he was definitely taking this way harder than Joe had thought he would.  
  
“Did you take fifty cents from my hoard?” Pete demanded as he dragged Joe the three feet to the back of the van and pointed to the jug of change.  
  
“Uh, I -wait, you could tell there was fifty cents missing?” Joe questioned in surprise.  
  
“Of course, I could,” Pete hissed, his eyes narrowed. “There was $475.55 there and now there's only $475.05. And I know it's two quarters that are missing.  
  
“And stop trying to distract me, dickhead. Did you take it?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Joe admitted and he winced when Pete's eyes changed to yellow. “It was only fifty cents and I didn't think you would even notice, much less lose your shit over half a dollar!”  
  
“Let me get this straight,” Pete forced out in between clenched teeth. “You thought it wouldn't be a big deal to  _steal money from a dragon's hoard_?!”  
  
“Dude, why do you keep calling it that?” Joe asked, his curiosity making him forget that there was a dragon pissed at him.  
  
Pete gaped at him, completely at a loss for words.  
  
“OK, I'm going to take Joe and give him a refresher course on why he's such a fucken retard sometimes,” Andy said and pulled Joe from Pete's unresisting hand. “Patrick, maybe you should...”  
  
“Yeah, I'll take care of Pete,” Patrick assured him, sounding amused.  
  
Andy dragged Joe off and gave him a blistering lecture that lasted for almost forty five minutes and continued even as they headed back on the road. It was the memory of that as much as Pete's sulking and pouting over the next few days that reminded Joe to steer clear of Pete's change. Hoard. Whatever.  
  
Joe might have a stoner's memory but there were some things even he wouldn't forget.  
  
And if he sometimes made sure to drop his extra change on the floor of the van -and later, the tour bus- well, it was no big deal; friends helped friends out.  
  
Even if it was just to help them build up their collection. Hoard.  _Whatever_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

_Are we growing up or just going down? It's just a matter of time until we're all_

_found out. Take your tears and put them on ice 'cause I swear I'd burn down the city_

_just to show you the light._

Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year, Fall Out Boy

 

 

“Warped is going to be fucken insane,” Pete told them as he threw himself onto the couch, narrowly missing the empty cans of Redbull that were resting on the arm.

 

“We’ve heard it before, Pete,” Patrick told him and headed for the door that separated the lounge from the bus driver and the steps to go outside. “I’m going to go get some air,” he added over his shoulder.

 

Joe just waved him off from where he was trying to wake up, hunched over in a chair, but Pete jumped up –knocking over the cans this time- and followed him out.

 

Once they were outside, Pete rested his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and hummed contentedly; Patrick smiled slightly, resting his weight against Pete for a second.

 

They watched the techs and bands walk by, hurrying to get things settled before the first concert of the tour.

 

Patrick was just about to suggest they go see if craft services was set up when he felt it; that persistent itch along his spine that told him there were other shapeshifters near by, ones that he didn’t know. 

 

Almost at the same time, Pete straightened up; he searched the people around them quickly before he met Patrick’s eyes. After a minute they both nodded and turned towards the other end of the parking lot.

 

*

 

They ran into each other just past were the merch tents were starting to go up. 

 

There were three of them; Patrick squinted and then said, soft enough so only Pete could hear him, “Son of bitch. Looks like My Chemical Romance is part of the club.”

 

Pete snickered before he turned back to face the other shapeshifters. He inhaled softly, catching the scents on the wind. Snow and the bone deep cold of winter, sweat and coffee, the sharp tang of unhappiness, mixed with other scents from the people still milling around them. And under it all was the strong scent he had found at his house and Patrick’s, at his grandparents.

 

“You’re dragons,” Gerard said in disbelief, looking them over.

 

Patrick noticed that Mikey was watching Pete with avid interest; he let himself smirk a little. Mikey wasn’t the first one to look at his mate that way and Patrick knew he wouldn’t be the last. He met Mikey’s guilty eyes while Pete introduced them. He knew his amusement was obvious; what did it matter if people looked at Pete, wanted him? Pete was his, always would be, and everyone knew it.

 

“Fire dragons,” Pete was saying, his voice as smug as it always was over that little fact. “I’m Pete and this is Patrick, my mate,” he went on, his hand circling Patrick’s wrist with the ease of familiarity; he stepped forward a little more, bringing Patrick with him.

 

“Jesus, Pete, I can walk over there on my own, you know,” Patrick said dryly; but he made no move to untangle himself and when Pete turned and grinned at him, Patrick smiled back, his affection for Pete obvious.

 

Gerard moved closer, keeping his voice low enough so that the humans wouldn’t overhear them.

 

“We should go somewhere we can talk –one of our buses, maybe?”

 

“Ours,” Patrick answered, his voice firm; Pete raised an eyebrow at the tone but didn’t comment on it. Patrick didn’t bother telling Pete what he probably already guessed; Patrick wanted this first meeting between them to be on their home turf –his instincts were practically demanding it. Making them go to their bus made them submit to Patrick’s wishes and whether or not they consciously understood it, that put Patrick as dominant over them.

 

Dominance games were rarely something Patrick ever bothered with, but when he had to play them, he came out on top.

 

“Only Joe and Andy are on the bus this early,” he went on. “And they already know about us, so there’s no worries about someone overhearing.”

 

“That sounds good,” Gerard agreed; he ran his hands through his hair and shared a look with his brother for a minute before Mikey shrugged and looked away.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Mikey said, his voice even.

 

Gerard glanced at Bob, who nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s alright.”

 

“Awesome,” Pete beamed, clearly happy to be hanging out with new shapeshifters. “Come on, we’re back this way.”

 

He turned to go but kept his grip on Patrick’s wrist. Patrick smiled; Pete liked to make his “ownership” of Patrick clear to any new shifters they happened to run into and ended up spending time with. It only happened twice before over the past few years, but Pete was predictable about some things.

 

Patrick was a lot less subtle –he usually just made sure Pete had visible bruises or bite marks. He didn’t like any confusion when it came to who Pete belonged to.

 

*

 

Joe looked up blearily from the chair he was still collapsed in. He eyed up everyone before he spoke. “Jesus, you found _more_? Wasn’t that clusterfuck in Minnesota enough for you?”

 

“Fuck off, Trohman,” Patrick told him and flipped him off. “That jackass deserved it. Besides, that was last year –let it go already.

 

“This is Gerard, Mikey and Bob. Guys, Joe.”

 

“Hey,” Joe said, waving a little. “Aren’t you guys in that band? The one with that song,” he hummed a few notes from _Vampires Will Never Hurt You_.

 

“Yeah, that’s us,” Gerard answered with a small smile.

 

“Good times,” Joe commented, standing up and wincing a little. “Fuck, my head.”

 

“Told you to stay away from the tequila,” Pete reminded him unsympathetically. “It always fucks you up.”

 

“Yes, thank you, asshole,” Joe spit out, but there wasn’t any real anger behind the words. “Alright, I’m going to try and find some fucken coffee; Andy went to go get some of his vegan crap at the store.

 

“Fuck, I hope Dirty has some aspirin.”

 

*

 

“We’ve never seen any other dragons,” Pete said from his spot next to Patrick on the couch; Gerard was on Patrick’s other side while Mikey was in the chair and Bob was leaning against the wall across from them.

 

“A few wolves, even a bear or two,” Pete went on, grinning at Bob who smiled back. “Oh, and those two panthers, remember ‘Trick?”

 

“Yeah, that mom and her kid,” Patrick agreed. “In southern California, I think.”

 

“But no dragons, except for our families. It’s awesome running into you guys. What kind of dragons are you, anyway?”

 

“Ice dragons,” Gerard answered, after exchanging a bemused look with his brother.

 

“It’s definitely going to be an interesting summer,” Patrick mused.

 

*

 

“Fuck,” Pete panted, straining up against the hold Patrick had on his wrists. “Damn it, Patrick, let me move. _Please_.”

 

The last word was spit out desperately and it made Patrick smirk as he lazily rolled his hips. He knew it wasn’t doing anything except teasing Pete. He shifted both of Pete’s wrists to his right hand and ran the fingertips of his left along the length of Pete’s cock.

 

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked mockingly, his voice low.

 

He dipped his fingers underneath Pete’s balls to press against where they were connected. Pete mewled and tried to open his legs even farther.

 

“Come on, Pete,” Patrick murmured, running his thumb along where Pete was being stretched by his dick. “Use your words and tell me what you want.”

 

“Motherfucker, would you just fuck me already,” Pete hissed out, pushed to his limit; his dick ached, it felt like he had been hard for hours and he just wanted to get off, some friction, _anything_.

 

Patrick looked at Pete, his lips twisted in a devious smirk that made Pete shudder. He moved his hands to the inside of Pete’s thighs and pushed them up and apart.

 

“Was that so tough?”

 

Before Pete could do more than open his mouth, Patrick pulled out and then slammed into him as hard as he could.

 

“Patrick,” Pete managed to gasp, his breath cut off; there was nothing like the first thrust of a good, hard fuck.

 

It was rough and fast and hard and had Pete babbling like an idiot in a matter of minutes.

 

“Fuck, Patrick, that’s perfect, you’re perfect, harder, pleaseplease _please_ ,” Pete begged as he wrapped a hand around his dick.

 

“Mine,” Patrick growled, his eyes flashing yellow as he continued to pound into his mate’s body. “ _Mine_.”

 

“Yes, fuck,” Pete moaned, his head falling back onto the pillow, his body tense as he came all over his stomach. “Yours, always.”

 

Patrick growled again, dropping Pete’s legs and burying his face in Pete’s neck. He only lasted a couple more thrusts before he came, biting down on Pete’s neck.

 

“Holy shit, Lunchbox, that’s way better than what I had planned,” Pete said as he nuzzled Patrick’s face affectionately.

 

Patrick pushed up onto his elbows and took in his mate’s flushed face and heavy lidded eyes smugly. “Yeah? What was it?”

 

“I was just going to see if you wanted to come to the movies with me and Mikey,” Pete answered, absent-mindedly running his hands over Patrick’s back and sides. “I didn’t even get a chance to ask you before you jumped me.

 

“Which, by the way, is definitely how you should start answering all my questions, Jesus fuck.”

 

Patrick snorted and moved off of him to lay on his back. “That might cause some problems if we’re on stage, jackass.”

 

“Come on, man, you know our fans are a bunch of perverts; they’d love it and then beg for more,” Pete smirked and Patrick rolled his eyes; only Pete would be proud of having dirty-minded fans.

 

“So, you wanna come with? We’re going to see the new Owen Wilson movie.”

 

“Nah, not in the mood,” Patrick answered as he stretched and covered his eyes with his arm; he didn’t mention that he didn’t want to ruin his good mood by watching Mikey make fuck me eyes at Pete. He knew Pete would never do anything, but it always annoyed him and he was feeling too good to deal with that right now. “I’m just gonna hang out and try to get some work done, maybe see if Joe wants to play some video games later.”

 

“Sounds good,” Pete got up and started hunting around for his pants; he turned to ask Patrick and stopped what he was doing. The sight of his mate sprawled on the hotel bed, all that pale skin on display that Patrick usually kept covered up in layers of clothes, it made him reconsider what he was doing for the afternoon. Patrick’s legs dropped open as if he was aware of Pete’s thoughts.

 

Pete walked over to the bed and crawled in between Patrick’s thighs and bit one of them. Patrick let out a startled moan and pushed himself up so he could look at Pete’s face. “I thought you were going out.”

 

“Fuck it,” Pete rasped out as he nibbled and bit his way up to Patrick’s neck –pausing to mouth at the head of his dick before pulling back and continuing up, smirking- and sucked a bruise where his pulse was just starting to pound. He pulled away and drank in the sight of the red mark that would start edging over into black and blue soon. And, yeah, he had definitely found something better to do with his day.

 

“Let Mikey go by himself, I’m busy.”

 

*

 

A few days later, Patrick was in craft services, eating a sandwich and trying to figure out a melody that had been bothering him, when Frankie slipped into the seat across from him.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said, a little surprised; he had heard Frankie coming this way but had assumed he was going to sit at another table. While all the bands on Warped intermingled a great deal, people usually left him alone when he had a notebook with him. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing much,” Frank answered, opening up one of the three Red Bulls he brought over along with his sandwich and some chips. “Gee and Ray are geeking out over lyrics for the next album, Bob’s off being all broody and shit and Mikey’s still trying to fuck –uh, I mean..” Frankie trailed off with a grimace and chugged his energy drink.

 

“Pete? Yeah, I’m aware of Mikey’s delusions,” Patrick said dryly. “I’m not going to start yelling at you or anything, man.”

 

Frankie shrugged but he relaxed a little. “I told Mikey to stop being a douche, but he’s a stubborn bitch sometimes. I mean, Gee told me about how you guys are, whatever -”

 

“Mates,” Patrick supplied, amused despite himself.

 

“Yeah, that,” Frankie went on, waving his hands around while he was talking. “And how it’s, like being married and shit and I told Mikey how scuzzy trying to fuck someone else’s husband is, but does that jackass ever listen to me? No, of course not.”

 

“How many of those have you had already?” Patrick wondered as Frank opened another can and downed half of it before looking at him again.

 

“Shit, I don’t know –a few?” Frank guessed and shrugged again before digging into his food.

 

Patrick shook his head and went back to his notebook, jotting down ideas as he absentmindedly ate the rest of his sandwich.

 

He was just finishing off his soda when he caught Bob’s scent; clean air, fresh grass and the musty smell of fur. And underneath it was the sharp scent of unhappiness that always seemed to surround the bear shifter.

 

“Hey, guys,” Bob said as he slid into the seat next to Frank.

 

“Bobert!” Frankie crowed and leaned over to give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “You decided to leave off with the pissiness and come hang out!”

 

“Get off of me, Iero,” Bob growled, but there was no menace to the words and when he looked at Frankie there was something about it that reminded Patrick of the way he looked at Pete.

 

_**Huh,**_ Patrick thought to himself. _**That explains a lot.**_

 

Later on, after Frankie had finished his food and wandered back off, Patrick looked at Bob with understanding.

 

“Why don’t you tell him?” He asked quietly, making sure none of the humans walking around would be able to hear him.

 

“There’s no point,” Bob said; for a brief minute he looked miserable, as unhappy as his scent suggested he was. “He’s straight and he’s never even looked at me with anything other than friendship.”

 

“He’s been around shifters his whole life, Bob,” Patrick argued, remembering what Gerard had said about him growing up down the street from him and Mikey. “I’m sure if you explained it to him -”

 

“Look,” Bob interrupted, his voice low and intense. “Even Gerard and Mikey don’t understand it –their parents aren’t mated. Yeah, they’re both shapeshifters, but they met and fell in love like humans do Why do you think Mikey keeps hitting on Pete? He has no concept of the way you and Pete are tied together; he doesn’t _get t_ hat Pete’s just being nice to him, that he only wants to be friends.

 

“I tried to tell him, but he blew me off, told me that it was bullshit. And if a fucken _shapeshifter_ won’t listen, what the hell makes you think a human will?”

 

Patrick drummed his fingers on the table and sighed. “You could at least try; maybe he’ll surprise you.”

 

“Or maybe he’ll be so freaked out, he’ll run as far away from me as possible,” Bob said darkly. “I can’t take the chance, OK? Even just being friends is better than him halfway across the country and afraid of me; I couldn’t stand that.

 

“And don’t say anything to anyone, please? I mean, I know you’ll tell Pete, but just not anyone else.”

 

Patrick agreed reluctantly; he still thought Bob should say something to Frank, but he respected the other shifter’s wishes on it.

 

*

 

“Frank and Bob,” Pete mused, later on that night; he was stretched out on the sofa with Patrick next to him. “I can see that, I guess. But Bob should at least say something to him.”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed and traced the tattoo along Pete’s collarbone; he was warm and sated, his clothes tossed haphazardly around the lounge, laying down with his mate, their legs intertwined and he couldn’t imagine not doing whatever it took to be able to do this whenever he wanted. He turned his head and inhaled his mate’s scent before he closed his eyes.

 

Pete ran a hand down Patrick’s back and left it around his waist; he felt relaxed, maybe enough to sleep for an hour or two.

 

“Wake me when you get up?” Patrick mumbled, already almost asleep. “Need to get clothes on before anyone gets up.”

 

Pete squeezed him in agreement and then shut his eyes, ready to get whatever sleep he could for the night.

 

*

 

“Hey, you,” Pete greeted as he stumbled onto the My Chemical Romance bus behind Frankie and Mikey; all three of them were covered in the remnants of silly string and shaving cream.

 

“Hey,” Patrick repeated, amused; he was sitting next to Ray, discussing guitars and their favorites. “Do I even want to know?”

 

“Probably not,” Pete answered cheerfully; he flung himself next to Patrick, ending up half on his lap and half on the couch. “And stay away from Bill and those guys, they might be a little, uh, pissed off right now.”

 

“Torosaurus! What’s up?” Frank said, squeezing into the small space between Ray and the end of the couch. “I thought Gee was gonna keep you chained in here for the whole tour.”

 

“Just because I don’t run around as insane as you doesn’t mean anything,” Ray said, chuckling a little. “But I need to go call Christy and then I have to try and fix that guitar clip in the new demo. Talk to you later, guys.”

 

Ray waved to everyone and ducked around Bob who had come in the lounge, woken up from his nap by the noise.

 

Mikey went to sit next to Pete and stopped when he heard a low noise come from Patrick. Pete looked up, surprised by the sound as well as the way his mate’s jaw was clenched. “You, OK, ‘Trick?” He

asked, concerned.

 

Patrick didn’t answer but he kept his eyes on Mikey. Mikey glared at him and moved to sit again; this time there was no mistaking the sound that came from Patrick as anything other than a possessive growl. Patrick tensed up and it was obvious he was close to losing it.

 

“Hey, babe, come on,” Pete said, sitting up and placing his hand on the side of Patrick’s face. “He’s just a friend, that’s all.”

 

“Bob,” Frankie said quietly, his eyes darting in between Mikey –who still refused to move- and Patrick, who’s growling had started rising in volume. “What do we do?”

 

Bob felt a rush of pride that his mate had looked to him for protection, but he pushed it to the side; he needed to diffuse this situation before Mikey ended up in the hospital.

 

He walked over and started dragging Mikey across the room, despite his protests; Patrick’s eyes carefully tracked his progress.

 

“Stop it, Bob,” Mikey hissed, trying -and failing- to free himself. “I’m not afraid of him.”

 

“Then you’re a fucken idiot,” Bob told him bluntly. “And a bigger one than I thought.

 

“Frankie, move over and sit next to Patrick. Trust me,” he added softly when Frank hesitated. Frankie took a deep breath and cautiously moved over. Bob sat down next to Frankie and shoved Mikey in between him and the arm of the couch. Patrick relaxed and turned into the hand Pete still had on his face and inhaled his mate’s scent.

 

“Pete,” he said, his voice rough. “I – _Mine_.”

 

Pete shivered at the tone, heat starting to pool in his stomach and curl along his spine. “Yeah, I am,” he breathed out and leaned in for a quick kiss. Bob looked pained as the scent of arousal started filling the lounge; Mikey just looked aggravated.

 

Pete stood up and didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye before Patrick grabbed his hand and they were out the door.

 

“I feel bad for whoever’s on their bus,” Bob said with a snicker; he was pretty amused by the whole thing now that they were out of immediate danger. “They’re about to get treated to a very loud, free show.”

 

Mikey frowned at Frankie who was giggling at the idea. “Damn it, Bob, why did you move me? I could have -”

 

“Gotten hospitalized,” Bob finished for him and raised an eyebrow when Mikey scoffed. “You’re playing with fire, Mikey -”

 

“Literally,” Frankie added seriously.

 

“One of these days, Patrick’s going to get tired of just warning you away from Pete and he’s going to beat the shit out of you. You need to stop trying to get into Pete’s pants –he’s never going to leave Patrick; more, he’s never going to _want_ to leave him. And he’s sure as hell not going to let you put your hands on him.”

 

“Whatever,” Mikey said, going into the back by the bunks and crawling into his. He gave into the

desire to brood and figure out the next step in this thing between him and Pete.

 

*

 

“Dude, it’ll be awesome,” Pete said as he took a bite of his burger; they were in a McDonald’s with the rest of the guys, plus Mikey, getting lunch before the meet and greets started. “Mikey’s gonna come onstage during _Saturday_ ,” he added, spewing crumbs and pieces of meat all over the table.

 

Patrick made a non-committal noise and met Mikey’s eyes; he stared back and let a smug smirk twist his lips before his customary blank look was back in place. Patrick raised an eyebrow; if Mikey wanted to play these games, he was more than happy to oblige, but he knew Mikey wouldn’t like the results.

 

*

 

Pete finished the last note, and listened to the crowd scream themselves hoarse, before turning to go.

 

Mikey had already handed off Pete’s bass to the waiting tech and slung his arm around Pete’s shoulders; Pete grinned at him, flushed with the success of a good show.

 

They were nearly offstage when Mikey turned and nuzzled Pete’s face and bit his jaw before pulling back; Pete shoved him back a step and hissed out, “What the fuck, Mikey?”

 

He went to say more but he saw Patrick standing in the shadows, a pissed off look on his face. “Fuck. God damn it, Mikey, do you ever fucken listen? Look, I’m going to go talk to _my mate_ ,” he stressed the two words, scowling darkly. “But don’t think I’m done being pissed at you about this.”

 

He stalked off towards his mate, hesitating when he was in front of Patrick. “’Trick, I didn’t know he was going to do that, I never would have let him.”

 

“I know.”

 

It was said quietly, but with unshakable belief and it made Pete’s shoulders sag in relief. Patrick’s hand circled his wrist and tightened before he turned to walk away and tugged Pete after him. Pete followed willingly enough even if he wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

 

They went past the tents and kept going until they were weaving through the tour buses; they stopped, but before Pete could say anything, Patrick pushed him against the nearest bus and nosed along his neck and jaw.

 

“You smell like him,” Patrick growled, scraping his teeth along Pete’s jawline and then biting down roughly on his neck. “You’re mine, Pete. _Mine_.”

 

“Yes,” Pete moaned as Patrick scraped his nails down his sides, underneath the shirt he had worn onstage. He could hear people milling around, could hear them talking and drinking, and part of his brain was telling him to shut up and be quiet so no one would come investigate, but the rest of him was too busy with the feel and scent and touch of his mate to be bothered with anything else.

 

Patrick dropped to his knees and nuzzled Pete’s denim clad erection before he looked up at him, his eyes starting to bleed over into yellow; Pete knew his own eyes were changing, too. 

 

“Come on, Pete,” Patrick said, his fingers making quick work of Pete’s belt and jeans. He shoved Pete’s pants down to mid-thigh before he licked his way back up. “I know you’re louder than that,” a quick nip to his inner thigh, “I want to be able to hear you,” a sucking bite placed just above his hipbone; where everyone would be able to see it whenever his shirt moved. “I want everyone around to hear you and to know that I’m the one making you fall apart.”

 

“Fuck me,” Pete said, his voice shaking as Patrick dug his fingers into his ass hard enough to bruise.

 

“Maybe next time,” Patrick promised darkly before he sucked the head of Pete’s dick into his mouth.

 

Pete moaned, his head slamming back onto the bus he was pressed against; he fisted his hands in Patrick’s hair, knocking Patrick’s hat off, unable to stop the way his hips jerked up and shoved his dick farther down Patrick’s throat.

 

“Shit, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to, please don't stop,” Pete babbled, pulling back. Patrick just hummed in encouragement, his hands urging Pete to do it again. Pete moaned again, holding Patrick’s head still while he fucked into Patrick’s mouth with deep strokes. Patrick had to sing tomorrow and Pete knew his voice would be husky, rough, all day and night; people would _hear_ it, and the idea that everyone they knew would hear Patrick talk and know that Pete had put that rasp there, it was enough to make him black out.

 

When Pete opened his eyes, Patrick was pulling off of his spent cock; a darkly possessive look in his eyes when he got to his feet and claimed Pete’s mouth in a rough kiss.

 

Pete made an eager noise, opening his mouth and tasting himself on his mate’s tongue; he managed to get Patrick’s pants open enough to fit his hand around Patrick’s dick.

 

“Fuck,” Patrick panted, his fingers gripping Pete’s shoulders as he thrusted into Pete’s hand. “He _bit_ you, that’s, _fuck_ ,” he whined as his mate’s hand tightened around his dick. “That’s mine, you’re mine, all of you, and no one else is allowed,” Patrick gasped out, spilling all over Pete’s hand.

 

“Yes, yours,” Pete said, stroking him through the aftershocks. “Only yours and you’re mine. No one else matters. No one else ever will.”

 

Patrick pulled away and caught Pete’s lips for deep kiss before Pete pulled his hand out and Patrick felt his dick give a desperate twitch as Pete licked his fingers clean.

 

“Jesus fuck, Pete, I’m not in high school any more, I can’t go again that fast,” Patrick groused as they got their pants situated and Patrick snagged his hat off the ground and set it back on his head.

 

“Bullshit,” Pete laughed, sliding his arm around Patrick’s waist as they turned to go. “Just yesterday you went twice in an hour.”

 

Patrick smirked but before he could say anything, they stepped out from behind the bus to a chorus of shouts and wolf whistles.

 

“Holy fuck, Wentz,” Frankie called from over by his bus; he was sharing a cigarette with Bob and he looked impressed. “You’ve got some fucken lungs on you.”

 

“Guess we really should have figured you for a screamer,” Bob added, amused.

 

“Fuck off,” Pete yelled, but he was grinning and his lazy, good mood was obvious to everyone. “I wasn’t that loud –was I, babe?”

 

He turned to look at Patrick who was practically radiating smugness despite the slight blush on his face. “You pretty much were, Pete –you kind of started yelling towards the end.”

 

“Whatever,” Pete snickered, flipping everyone off. “You’re all just a bunch of jealous bitches.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Andy said dryly and rolled his eyes; he was sober but he was probably the one beside them and Gerard who were. “Seeing your ass all those times pushed me over the edge.”

 

Patrick smirked again and started steering Pete towards their bus; he caught Mikey’s eyes from where he was half hidden in the shadows of his band’s bus.

 

Patrick raised an eyebrow; _See? He’s_ _ **mine**_ _and he always will be_.

 

Mikey looked away first and Patrick hoped he got the idea.

 

*

 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

 

Pete stopped texting Patrick to look at Frankie’s uncharacteristically serious face. “Sure, Iero. What’s up?”

 

Frankie dropped onto the sofa next to Pete; all around them people were getting ready for the concert that night.

 

He fidgeted for a minute, picking at his pants nervously, before he said in a rush, “When did you know you were mated to Patrick?”

 

Pete debated for a minute on not answering, but mentally shrugged it off; he hadn’t promised Bob anything. Besides, it wasn’t like he was _telling_ Frankie he was mated to Bob, all he was doing was answering a question.

 

Sometimes semantics were your best friend.

 

“I just kind of… _knew_. Even before I saw him, his scent just seemed right to me; he smelled like home and want and heat and something that made him mine. Then he opened the door,” Pete paused, a small, secret smile on his lips.

 

“He opened the door and there was this quiet click in my head, like something was finally back where it belonged. It felt like I finally found something I didn’t even know I was searching for.

 

“Argyle and all, he was mine. And I was his.”

 

It was more sentimental than Pete usually got; he figured he was allowed once in a while.

 

“But, like, how did you know it wasn’t just, like, a friend thing?” Frank asked quietly.

 

Pete burst into laughter and waved a hand at the resulting scowl on Frank’s face. “Trust me, Frankie, I never wanted to fuck any of my friend’s quite that badly,” Pete snickered. “But there’s this insane rush to touch the other person; to mark them, make them yours. You’re lucky if you stop fucking long enough to eat for the first week or so.

 

“Patrick missed almost a full week of school when we were first mated,” Pete remembered smugly.

 

“Is it always like that?” Frankie wondered, eying the bruises on Pete’s neck.

 

“Not usually,” Pete answered wryly. “It mostly evens out after the first few months; by then, you’re pretty much assured of your place in each other’s lives.

 

“It’s only when someone threatens or challenges your claim on your mate that _this_ happens,” Pete told him, waving at the various bruises littering his body.

 

Frank was quiet for a minute, absorbing the information. “OK, but humans –can _humans_ be mated to shapeshifters?”

 

“Jesus, Iero, what kind of question is that?” Pete scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course they can; Patrick’s dad is mated to a human.”

 

“But I thought I heard Patrick say that both his parents were dragons,” Frank said with a frown.

 

“They are,” Pete confirmed and raised an eyebrow at Frank’s obvious confusion. “Patrick’s parents aren’t mated; they met in college and liked each other enough to have Kevin and Patrick.

 

“Patrick’s dad met his mate when he was in his thirties. It happens that way sometimes,” Pete said with a shrug.

 

“But he just left? Like, he moved out and everything?”

 

“Well, yeah. Dude, he found his _mate_ ; no one would have expected him to ignore that, Frank. Hell, if you had asked me before now, I would have said not acting on a mate bond was impossible.

 

“Patrick’s mom understood,” Pete went on, his voice quiet. “They both knew when they decided to have kids together, that there was always the chance they would find their mate. It’s not like he _abandoned_ them or anything, he just moved out.

 

“So, yeah, to answer your question, humans and shifters can mate; it usually ends up that way, honestly –there are a lot more of you guys than there are of us.

 

“And to answer the question I can practically see you asking next,” Pete grinned smugly. “I have no idea if a human would feel the bond the same way; I’d assume, though, from what I’ve seen, that they at least feel the bond enough to want to be around their mate, that they feel that inexplicable pull to them, even if they don’t understand what it is at first.”

 

Pete waited until Frank wandered off with an absent “thanks,” before he pulled his phone out and texted Patrick, snickering the whole time.

 

_**ull nvr guess wht frnke jst askd me…** _

 

*

The end of July rolled around and Pete was ready to kill Mikey; he hadn’t repeated the incident from earlier in the month, hadn’t even put his arm around Pete’s shoulder. What he was doing was crowding Pete, sitting next to him if Patrick wasn’t around, texting him when Pete was avoiding him. Patrick had already broken his Sidekick twice and the record company told Pete that if he lost or damaged another one, he had to pay for it out of pocket. Patrick was getting increasingly possessive, snapping and growling at anyone who got too close to Pete and he had been getting into more fights; it was getting to the point that Pete was starting to think that if he just let Patrick beat the shit out of Mikey it would get everything back to something approaching normal.

 

The only plus side as far as Pete was concerned was the fact that he was getting laid _all the time_. He was pretty sure that he and Patrick hadn’t fucked this much since they were first mated. Any time Patrick smelled Mikey on Pete –which was actually a lot easier to make happen than people assumed- he dragged Pete off for sex.

 

Not only that, but he was making sure Pete had plenty of bruises and hickeys that were visible; the humans on the tour were starting to give him concerned looks and even the other shifters were starting to reach the point where they were losing patience with Mikey.

 

None of them wanted the kind of attention that a fistfight between Patrick and Mikey would bring, especially since it was likely to go on until one of them couldn’t move enough to get up any more. But it was looking more and more like it was going to come down to that.

 

*

 

It was almost two in the morning when there was a knock on the door; Joe looked over at Pete and Patrick questioningly but they both shrugged.

 

Joe got up and there was a murmur of voices Pete picked out as Gerard and Joe before Patrick tensed and he caught Mikey’s scent along with Ray’s right before Joe led them back into the front lounge where they were watching _The Lost Boys_.

 

“Hey, guys,” Gerard said sheepishly, waving awkwardly.

 

Pete moved closer to where Patrick was on the couch and draped his legs over Patrick’s, hoping to stave off the inevitable growling and snarling that was going to follow if Mikey was going to stay on the bus for much longer.

 

“I was, uh, wondering if we could stay here for a few hours, until we get the room keys for the hotel?”

 

“Why?” Patrick asked, his voice deeper than normal as he eyed Mikey suspiciously; he placed his hand on Pete’s knee in a proprietary manner that made Pete smile fondly at his mate even though he was mentally rolling his eyes; he couldn't wait until shit went back to normal -he was starting to feel like some heroine in a crappy romance movie.

 

“Bob and Frankie finally got their shit together,” Ray answered with a wry smile. “And they're being kind of, uh, loud.”

 

“No shit?” Pete asked, sharing a grin with Patrick and a high five with a giggling Joe.

 

“Yeah, Frank started yelling at Bob, telling him that he could make his own decisions and that no one would ever tell him –Frankie- what to do,” Gerard explained, a pleased smile on his face. “Next thing we know, he's latched onto Bob and he looked like he was trying to swallow Bob's tongue.”

 

“Can you shut the fuck up, please?” Andy called out from the bunks, his voice grumpy and sleepy. “I’ve grown used to my three jackasses, but everyone else needs to be quiet.”

 

“Dude, Bryar and Iero finally started fucking!” Joe told him, his voice gleeful. “Now Gabe owes me $50 and a dime bag.”

 

“Joseph,” Andy said and just that one word was enough to stop Pete and Patrick from snickering as well Joe; Andy using your full name never meant anything good. And if he progressed to middle and last names –well, it was something to be avoided at all costs. He was a lot like parents in that way; although, Patrick had never run into anything that scared him as badly as Andy had been known to.

 

Ray and Gerard still looked amused; even Mikey’s mouth twitched into a smile for a second. Patrick figured they could be forgiven –not only didn’t they live with Andy for three-thirds of the year, they had never seen Andy get really angry before.

 

“Joseph,” he repeated, his voice losing it's sleepy quality. “I don’t care if they decide to go fuck half of Warped –I’m trying to get some fucken sleep here. Understand?”

 

Joe winced and nodded quickly even though Andy couldn’t see him; after a minute there was a quiet rustling that meant Andy had turned over to go back to sleep and all three of them breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Right,” Gerard drawled, his amusement obvious. He understood their reactions, though; Bob was _epic_ once he actually lost his temper –maybe it was a drummer thing. He did make an effort to lower his voice, it was only funny as long as he –and his brother- didn’t get caught in the crossfire.

 

_No matter how annoying said brother was being_ , Gerard thought and mentally sighed as Mikey kept sneaking glances at where Pete was draped over Patrick.

 

“So, can we stay here? It would only be until seven or so; that's when Brian's usually awake enough to get the rooms sorted out.”

 

Joe shrugged and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Patrick growled, “No.

 

“I can't,” Patrick paused for a second, clearly trying to get himself under control; Pete placed his hand on Patrick's thigh and squeezed comfortingly. “Mikey can't stay,” he went on, his voice a little more even. “It's already taking all my self-control to leave him alone _now_ , if he stays for much longer...”

 

Patrick trailed off but kept his gaze on Mikey, hard and analyzing; for a second Mikey couldn't understand why it made him feel off balance but then he realized it was exactly the same way a predator watched it's prey, patient and knowing eventually you'll move the wrong way and then he'll have you.

 

Mikey dropped his eyes and for the first time he wondered if this was really the right road to go down.

 

“Alright,” Gerard said with barely concealed irritation and Mikey knew he wasn't imagining the angry look his brother leveled at him. “We'll go over by the Midtown bus; Gabe, at least, should still be awake.”

 

They turned to go and Mikey glanced over his shoulder as he left the lounge area; Pete's head was bent close to Patrick's, grinning as he listened to whatever Patrick was murmuring to him.

 

Neither Ray or Gerard commented on Mikey's quietness for the rest of the night; the Midtown bus was more than loud enough to distract everyone so that they left him alone.

 

*

 

Almost a week later, Patrick found Pete sitting at one of the many tables that were scattered around, talking to a women around their own age; Patrick narrowed his eyes and almost growled when she shoved Pete's shoulder playfully. She wasn't flirting with Pete, wasn't even sitting too close to him, but Patrick still felt like he needed to go over and insert himself into their conversation.

 

Part of Patrick's brain realized exactly how ridiculous he was being, but the Shapeshifter part of him kept telling him that there was already _one_ person questioning his claim on his mate, better to go over there and let this women know that Pete was taken, was already _his_ before she tried to take him.

 

Even as he laughed at himself, Patrick headed towards the two of them.

 

Pete looked up and grinned. “Patrick, this is Alicia. Alicia this is my mate, Patrick.”

 

“Hey,” Alicia greeted him, offering him a wide smile. Patrick nodded, trying to place her scent; human, definitely, but there was the familiar smell of fur and snow there, too.

 

“My parents are wolves,” Alicia explained as he sat down next to Pete. “But I'm human; I was adopted when I was two.”

 

“I was just telling Alicia about Bob and Frank,” Pete told him and smirked. “I'm never going to let Bob forget this; a fucken _year,_ Christ. _”_

 

“I still have no clue how he managed to stay away from Frankie for so long,” Patrick mused, absently pressing his leg against Pete's.

 

“Because he's a _dumbass_ ,” Pete scoffed as he turned to include Alicia in the conversation; he dropped his right hand down onto his mate's thigh and unconsciously started trailing his fingers along it. “He finds his mate and what does he do? Pout for an entire year with out even bothering to _ask_ Frankie if he might be interested in something besides being friends.”

 

“Pete,” Patrick admonished, but it lost any sting it might have had since he was snickering along with Alicia.

 

“What, Lunchbox?” Pete asked, mock innocently, a smirk still fixed on his lips.

 

Patrick shook his head but before he could say anything, he caught sight of Mikey out of the corner of his eye and he stiffened, unable to stop the rumble of possessiveness that started in his chest and came out as a growl as Mikey spotted them and headed over.

 

Pete looked up and mentally braced himself for the inevitable fight even as he pressed closer to Patrick's side.

 

“Don't worry, it's not you,” Pete assured Alicia quietly when she started to look worried.

 

Patrick's eyes were fixed on Mikey, watching his progress intently; mentally cataloging every move he made and filing the information away to be used later.

 

About halfway there, Mikey abruptly halted and tilted his head to the side, a confused expression on his face. He inhaled sharply, obviously enough that Patrick caught it and raised an eyebrow, completely baffled about what Mikey was doing.

 

After another long minute, Mikey's gaze zeroed in on them. No, not _them_ , Patrick realized, he was completely focused on _Alicia_. As Mikey got closer, Patrick easily recognized the look on his face.

 

“No way,” he said, his voice colored with disbelief and amusement. Pete turned to him questioningly and all Patrick could do was gesture at Alicia and chuckle.

 

Pete frowned, still confused and looked at Alicia just as she glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of Mikey. “Oh,” he breathed out, suddenly understanding as Alicia bit her lip and shifted in her seat, making the scent of arousal obvious.

 

“Hey,” Mikey said when he got there, his eyes still fixed on Alicia.

 

“Hi,” Alicia told him, unable to stop herself from giving him a quick once over.

 

“You want to go hang out or something?” Mikey asked, his voice breathless but the intent there was obvious.

 

“Sure,” Alicia answered and got up; Mikey tangled their fingers together and after looking at her again, he turned and left, Alicia keeping up with him eagerly.

 

Patrick looked at his mate and did the only thing he could at this point: laugh. After a startled noise, Pete joined him, just as relieved that now Mikey would stop it and that everything could go back to what passed as normal during Warped Tour.

 

*

 

The last week and a half of Warped was a scramble; Gerard and the rest of the band put out the word that Mikey had a bad case of food poisoning and they scrambled to find substitute bass players for the shows. Pete took a hefty amount of them, shrugging it off when Gerard thanked him profusely. 

 

“We're friends, right? Or, at least, we will be now that this-” Pete waved a hand to indicate Mikey's semi-stalking of him all summer and the consequent fall out- “has finally worked out without Mikey ending up in the hospital.”

 

Even Patrick was happy to lend a hand during a song or two, to the delight of both the crowd and his mate. “'Trick's talent is fucken ridiculous,” Pete told a group of fans when they went outside to sign after one of the shows. “He can literally play circles around everyone we know. I'm just lucky he decided to stay with my dumb ass.” He gave Patrick a quick peck on the lips to the delighted cooing of said fans and the blushing embarrassment of Patrick.

 

“Was it this much of a pain in the ass finding replacements for us?” Bob wondered one day while one of the techs tried to learn one of their songs.

 

“Worse,” Gerard answered, keeping an eye on the tech. “We were lucky enough to have a couple days off mixed in the week you guys were, uh, busy, but we had to find two replacements instead of one and at that point, neither Pete or Patrick would come near the stage while we were on, so. Yeah, definitely worse.”

 

Bob looked apologetic for all of three seconds before he caught sight of Frankie and he grinned his eyes following his mate. Gerard rolled his eyes; did mating make everyone act like idiots?

 

At that moment he caught sight of Pete leading Patrick to the stage and Patrick looking annoyed but there was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes when his gaze rested on Pete.

 

Gerard snorted; yeah, it definitely did.

 

*

 

On the last day of Warped, Patrick was standing around, saying good-bye to everyone when Mikey came up to him, an uncomfortable look on his face.

 

“I just wanted to apologize,” Mikey told him; he glanced around before finally looking Patrick in the eye. “I shouldn't have -well, you know.

 

“I didn't understand the bond or anything and I'm sorry. I should have backed off as soon as Pete told me he wasn't interested, but I get tunnel vision sometimes, you know? And I don't give up easily.

 

“It's never happened with another person before, though,” Mikey mused thoughtfully; he shook his head and went on when Patrick just continued to look at him steadily. “I get now what Bob meant when he said that Pete would never leave you, that he would never want to.

 

“I guess I always kind of thought that you tricked or trapped into it, that he never had a choice in the matter. But now I know that it's not like that. Or, if it is, that both of you are trapped together, that neither one of you had a choice. And, really, that you wouldn't have wanted one, not once you met Pete.

 

“And Pete wouldn't, either. So, I'm sorry, for the whole summer.”

 

Patrick eyed him up for a minute before he said, “I really don't think I'm the only one you should be apologizing to.”

 

“I already told Pete I was sorry,” Mikey admitted with a rare smile. “He waved it off and told me he understood. Which I know is bullshit, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

 

Patrick made him wait a few more minutes before he nodded slowly. “I guess we're good.”

 

“Awesome,” Mikey said, looking relieved. “I've got to go collect Alicia and let Gerard know we're ready to leave, but you should come hang out if you guys are ever in Jersey.”

 

Patrick watched him go; the human part of him content to let it go, but the shifter in him insisted on watching him leave, not sure if this was a trick to try to make him less cautious. _After all, a dragon doesn't change his scales overnight,_ that part whispered to him.

 

He relaxed as he felt Pete come up behind him, wrap his arms around his waist. “Told you this summer was going to be crazy,” Pete murmured as he rested his chin on Patrick's shoulder.

 

Patrick rolled his eyes but he leaned into Pete's weight contentedly. “You are the master of understatement sometimes, Wentz.”

 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

_Baby, seasons change, but people don't and I'll always be waiting in the back room._

The Take Over, The Break's Over, Fall Out Boy

 

 

 

 

“Hey, 'Trick, how long are we off for?” Pete asked as he looked up from his laptop; his eyes were unfocused while he tapped his fingers on the bed absently. 

 

“Until Thursday,” Patrick answered, glancing up from GarageBand where he was working on one of the new Gym Class Heroes songs. “Why, what's up?”

 

“I'm thinking about going to Vegas to see this kid, Ryan Ross,” Pete answered as he titled the laptop so Patrick could see it from where he was on their bed; he looked young, barely eighteen if Patrick was any judge, and painfully thin. He was pretty enough, if only in that too scene for the scene way that they ran across sometimes.

 

“Is there something I should be worried about?” Patrick asked dryly.

 

“Yeah, totally,” Pete scoffed and rolled his eyes. “He says he's got a band with his best friend, wants me to check them out. I don't know, Patrick, I've got a feeling about it. A good one.”

 

Patrick started to scoff but he caught the way Pete was studying the laptop screen and nodded instead. “You should be fine; I doubt even you could manage to make a two day trip last five days.”

 

“Hmmm,” Pete murmured as he typed something out; after a minute, he closed the laptop and put it on the floor before he draped himself over his mate's lap. “You could always come with me and make sure I don't manage to run three days worth of late.”

 

“I guess work time's over,” Patrick huffed but without any real anger. He saved what he was doing before he put his MacBook to the side and rested back against the headboard.

 

Patrick started to shrug off the offer to go with Pete; joking aside, he knew that barring an emergency, Pete was usually good about getting to places on time. But his shapeshifter side stirred a little, the memory of Mikey Way and Warped too fresh for either part of him to be completely comfortable with letting his mate go that far away from him.

 

“Vegas, huh?” he managed to get out as Pete nuzzled the front of his pajama pants. “Sounds good.”

 

“Oh, I've got something even better,” Pete smirked as he looked up at Patrick and rubbed his cheek against Patrick's hardening dick. “Much better, in fact.”

 

*

 

Vegas was pretty much what Patrick had expected it to be: dry and hot. The heat never really bothered him; he might sweat a lot, but he actually enjoyed it when it was warm out. His mom used to tell him stories about finding him in his grandparent's garden, spread out over the grass, asleep in the sun long enough that his scales were warm to the touch.

 

_Wonder if it's a dragon thing,_ Patrick thought wryly as Pete arranged himself on the hotel balcony in only his boxer briefs.

 

“Don't forget to keep the underwear on,” Patrick told him as he settled into the patio chair.

 

“Fuck you,” Pete purred cheerfully, settling himself on his stomach; he sighed happily when his skin came into contact with the sun-warmed concrete. “Wake me up in an hour,” he added, sleepily, curling his hand around Patrick's ankle.

 

Patrick made a noise of agreement before he leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat as much as Pete was.

 

*

 

The band was somewhat of a surprise; only two of them were there at first. Their drummer, Spencer, was on his way - “He had to babysit his sisters and his parents were running late, but he'll be here!”- and the bassist hadn't even bothered to show.

 

Brendon and Ryan looked normal; brown hair, brown eyes, tall -taller than they were, at least- and lanky. Ryan was obviously impressed by the fact that _Pete Wentz_ from _Fall Out Boy_ was right there and he brought _Patrick Stump_ with him, _holy shit_ and just as obviously trying to hide it.

 

Brendon was excited, bouncing around the room, picking up a guitar and putting it down again after a second, speaking quickly the whole time. 

 

All in all, they seemed like normal teenagers with a band, who wanted to perform for a living.

 

They were human, there was no doubt about _that_ , but -like Alicia- they had the scent of shapeshifters on them, especially Ryan.

 

Pete cocked his head to the side and inhaled softly; kool-aid, sweat, weed, sex, nerves and layered over it was the smell of water during a storm, the fresh tang of a lake in the morning. And there was the sharp scent that marked dragons as different, even among other shapeshifters.

 

“Another dragon,” Patrick murmured and Pete could feel his cautious amusement as they looked over the teenagers in front of them again.

 

Before Pete could say anything else, he felt his skin crawl -the particular kind that only ever happened when there was a new shifter around- and Patrick straightened up beside him as someone else rushed into the room.

 

“Shit, sorry, guys; my parents were late and then the fucken _traffic_ -” He stumbled to a halt as his eyes widened and he realized that there were two other dragons in the room. “Ryan, come here,” he said, his voice low.

 

“Christ, Spencer,” Ryan sighed but he carefully made his way over to his best friend's side. “Is this a _you-know-what_ thing?” he added with a look around the practice space in case there were other people around that they didn't know.

 

“I'm Pete and this is my mate Patrick,” Pete said suddenly and grinned; he took a small step forward and wrapped his fingers around Patrick's wrist to tug him along.

 

“You really need to work on your introduction,” Patrick murmured warmly; he met his mate's eyes and raised an eyebrow when Pete just chuckled.

 

“You know you love it, 'Trick,” Pete told him with a friendly leer before he focused his attention back on the other people in the room.

 

“I'm Spencer and this is Ryan, my mate,” Spencer said after hesitating for a brief second. “You're dragons, too, aren't you?”

 

“Yeah, fire dragons,” Patrick answered wryly, amused by the smugness he could feel from Pete. “You're a water dragon, right?”

 

“Yeah, my whole family is,” Spencer told them and relaxed a little; he kept his shoulder touching Ryan's, mostly because he needed the reassurance.

 

“Hey, guys, is this about the lycanthrope thing?” Brendon asked cheerfully as he wandered back over to Spencer and Ryan.

 

“Jesus, Brendon,” Ryan snarked, clearly exasperated with his bandmate. 

 

“It's shapeshifters, Bren,” Spencer explained impatiently; Patrick got the feeling that this was something that they had been through at least a dozen times. “There's shapeshifters and there's werewolves, that's it.”

 

“Right,” Brendon agreed readily. “So, do you guys do that changing thing, too?”

 

*

 

Almost a half hour later, they had gone through four songs of their own and a couple covers -including _Chicago Is So Two Years Ago_ , much to Pete's amusement.

 

After their first song, Pete started to line up promo dates and studio time in his head, tried to decide who would be the best to tour with them and to remember their own recording schedule so he could let Patrick loose on them.

 

“What do you think, 'Trick?” Pete murmured, his fingers tapping the bench they were sitting on.

 

“They're rough still,” Patrick answered bluntly; his eyes were narrowed and Pete just knew he was dying to get started in the studio with them. “And I doubt they put more than an hour or two in at practice every week. Plus, the bassist didn't even show -that doesn't exactly inspire confidence, Pete.

 

“There's something there, I'll give them that, but who knows if they can put in the time and effort it's going to take to get them ready.”

 

Pete made a sound of agreement; if they decided to sign, they were in for a surprise when they went into the studio. Patrick was a fucken dictator when he got behind a sound board; he demanded perfection and he would ride you until he got it. Patrick would push and push and _push_ until you were ready to beat the shit out of him and never wanted to see another instrument again in _your life_.

 

And he was always right -that was the worst part. He was always right and the bastard knew it, so he went on being a demanding fuck in the studio and alienated everyone around him and even if you absolutely loathed him by the end, you still had to admit that you just got done recording the best damn record of your career.

 

“I don't think the bassist is going to last long anyways; Spencer told me he doesn't even know about him,” Pete said almost absently, but Patrick got the message; if he had been in the band for this long and Spencer still didn't trust him, then he probably wouldn't be around for very much longer.

 

“What do you think?” Pete asked and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. 

 

“Sign them,” Patrick said after a minute. “We'll get them in the studio and then we'll see how good they end up being when I'm done with them,” he added with a smirk. 

 

Pete grinned; it was _awesome_ when Patrick tortured other bands.

 

*

 

“Hey, I wanted to ask you, you didn't sign us just because Spencer's like you, right?” Ryan questioned, his voice low to keep anyone else at the restaurant from overhearing them.

 

Spencer glanced over at them but his attention was on Brendon who was talking at Patrick, his arms flailing around, while they waited in line.

 

“Nah,” Pete answered with a smile. “I would have signed you guys either way; Spencer being a dragon is just a bonus.”

 

Ryan nodded slowly before his face slipped into the carefully blank mask that Pete was starting to realize was his normal expression. “Good. That's good.”

 

“Yeah, we'll see how much you're thanking me when you're in the studio with Patrick,” Pete grinned mischievously and snickered at the look Ryan gave Patrick when they got back to the table with the food.

 

“Do I even want to know?” Patrick wondered as he unwrapped his food.

 

“Oh, I was just telling Ryan that you'd be working with them in the studio,” Pete informed him, his sly grin still firmly in place.

 

Patrick smiled innocently. “It's not that bad.”

 

*

 

“I hate him,” Ryan told Pete a month later, his voice flat and vicious.

 

Pete laughed so hard he almost dropped his phone. “Of course you do; we _all_ hate him when he's producing.”

 

“No, seriously, _I hate him_ ,” Ryan hissed. “He almost made Brendon cry earlier and Spencer's about to go crazy and I've recorded the same set of chords fifty times and -”

 

“I punched him in the face last time,” Pete interrupted, the words nostalgic and fond. “Then he tried to choke me and we ended up fucking on the studio floor; the rug burn was a bitch, let me tell you. 

 

“My point is,” Pete went on, ignoring the noise Ryan had made at his words. “Everyone wants to kill him; Andy threw one of his drumsticks at Patrick's face and then stormed out of the studio. Joe smoked so much he could barely pick up his guitar. 

 

“And I don't even want to tell you what happened when Gym Class was last in there; I've _never_ seen grown men cry like that outside of a funeral.

 

“He will make you hate him and you'll be convinced that murder is a valid life choice; Patrick will keep pushing you guys until you break down. But trust me when I tell you that, at the end of it, this will be the greatest record that you could have made at this point in time.

 

“Patrick is...Patrick; he demands perfection and he gets it. And if he didn't think you were capable of giving him that, you wouldn't be near a studio with him and you sure as hell wouldn't have been signed to DecayDance.”  


Pete let his words sink in for a few seconds before he changed the subject and asked if they liked L.A. so far.

 

*

 

“Jesus fuck,” Pete breathed as the limo pulled up to the curb, lights flashing from the numerous photographers. “This is just, like, insane. It's _the Grammys, holy fuck._ ”

 

Pete looked like he was about to freak out, so Patrick swallowed down his own nervousness and bumped his shoulder against his mate's. “Dude, come on, you were, like, made for this. You'll be awesome.”

 

“You mean, _we'll_ be awesome,” Pete corrected with a huge grin; it had the desired affect, though, and made his shoulders relax. “'Cause I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you guys.”

 

“Why is it that award shows always turn you into a sappy bitch?” Andy mused, his slight smirk at odds with the nervous way his fingers tapped against the seat.

 

“Fuck you, Hurley,” Pete said with a grin but before he could say anything else, their door opened and someone with an earpiece and a clipboard was motioning them out.

 

They looked at each other and then climbed out, taking a second to adjust to the flashbulbs from the photographers and paparazzi and the roar of the fans. 

 

Patrick inhaled sharply and tangled his fingers with Pete before he spoke. “Alright, guys, let's go get this out of the way.”

 

“Jesus, Patrick, you make the Grammy's sound like a fucken funeral,” Joe scoffed, but his shoulders relaxed and they all seemed more at ease as they tackled the line of reporters, so Patrick figured it was a win.

 

*


End file.
